


The Replacement

by Cinaed



Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Angst, M/M, Noncanonical Character Death, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-10
Updated: 2006-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joshua Anderson doesn't understand why he's not welcome at the crime lab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Replacement

_(Thought I saw you today, and I knew it couldn't be but my heart believed; oh it seems like there's something everyday….)_

Joshua Anderson considered himself a good guy. A nice guy, actually. Sure, he was a little ordinary looking, kind of forgettable, but he was polite and everyone back in Seattle had told him he was funny, so he supposed he was that too. In any case, he had never had problems settling in before, not in Seattle, and not in Indianapolis before that. Usually the fellow lab technicians welcomed him with open arms, and he could settle into a daily routine with any further ado. 

That wasn’t the case in Las Vegas. To put it mildly, Josh was baffled. After all, it was one of the top crime labs in the country -- he had been absolutely floored when he’d found out he’d been accepted -- so how could the people here be so…unfriendly? 

When he’d first walked in, the receptionist had smiled at him -- well, in his direction at least, she’d been on the phone at the time -- and pointed him in the direction of his new lab, and everything had _seemed_ fine. It wasn’t until he started to open the door to the trace lab that things had started to fall apart. A man with curly, unmanageable hair had stopped him with a polite, "Are ya lost?" and a warm, infectious grin. The warm smile had vanished as soon as he’d introduced himself and been replaced by a cool, distant look. 

"Joshua Anderson. I’m the new trace technician." 

That was all he had said, and yet that had been enough to earn the distaste of a man who’d coolly introduced himself as Bobby Dawson, firearms technician, and then excused himself. 

People kept poking their heads into the lab after that, to shoot him curious looks or to ask point-blank what he was doing, and every time he offered up the explanation that he was the new trace technician, it was as though a wall would spring up between him and that latest person. 

This one woman, who’d introduced herself as Jacqui Franco, had actually _glowered_ at him for three straight minutes before saying in a harsh voice that had an undertone of hopelessness, "You won’t last the week." Another man -- Josh had forgotten his name, but he was Asian -- had offered him a smile so brittle that Josh could almost see the cracks, and then muttered something about getting back to the A/V lab. Even the CSIs were odd. Sara Sidle, a woman with a blunt, direct way of speaking, had just studied him for a moment and said, "You’re a nice guy, aren’t you?" and her tone had been one of almost disappointment. 

Josh really wanted to know what the hell was up with this crime lab. He frowned and fidgeted in his chair, waiting for some test results to give to the Sidle woman before he could dive back into the tremendous backlog. Really, the last guy must have been a real slacker. At the sound of the door opening, he braced himself and looked up. 

He was met, astonishingly enough, with a smile. "You must be Joshua. I’m Catherine Willows, CSI," the blond woman informed him, extending a hand that Josh automatically shook. "You’ve been holed up here all night. Want to grab some coffee in the break room?" 

"Uh…." Josh floundered for a moment, not sure how to tell this friendly woman that the rest of the nightshift consisted of unfriendly jerks. "Sure, I guess." He offered Catherine a tentative smile even as he hopped off the stool and followed her out into the hallway. "You know, you’re the first person to really, um, welcome me today. No offense, but no one’s been real friendly…." 

Her footfalls slowed at that, and she turned to shoot him a disconcerting look. "No one told you?" 

He blinked. "Told me what? Look, all I know is that I’m the new trace technician, and apparently that pisses a lot of people off. I don’t know why, maybe the guy I replaced was some saint, but I think--" 

"The guy you replaced is dead." The low, flat comment stunned him into silence, and he just stared at her, openmouthed, for a moment. Catherine wore a pinched, tired look now. "And he definitely wasn’t a saint, but…." She shrugged, helplessly. "You spend four years with a man, you grow accustomed to him and all his quirks." She offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach her bright blue eyes. "People’ll get used to you. They’re just still grieving at the moment." 

Josh swallowed. No one had told him he was a replacement for a dead man. He’d assumed the nightshift trace technician had transferred or been fired, anything but the ultimate transfer, out of the realm of the living. "Oh," he said helplessly. "No one…no one told me." 

She just looked at him for a moment, and said, "Well, now you know," before she resumed walking. He trailed after her, frowning. Now he knew? Now he knew why the lab technicians were so cold to him, yes, but he didn’t know anything about the man he was replacing. 

"What was his name?" 

Catherine sighed, opening the door to the break room for him as she said, "David. David Hodges. He transferred here from LA." An ironic little smile touched her lips then, and she pointed with a long, elegant finger. "There’s his picture. You know, he’d probably kill Jacqui for putting it up there, but she insisted…." 

Jacqui. Oh yes, the bitter woman. He suddenly understood the hopelessness in her voice now. Josh squinted at the plaque and the photo adorning it, even as he asked, "Was she his girlfriend?" 

Catherine snorted -- yes, snorted -- but when he glanced curiously at her, she had a blank expression on her face. "No." 

Frowning, he studied the photograph. He recognized the counter that David Hodges was leaning against as the one in the trace lab, and as Josh studied the man, he suspected that he and David Hodges wouldn’t have gotten along very well, at least not at first. David Hodges had his arms folded against his chest, and was offering up a haughty, knowing smirk towards whoever was holding the camera. He had an aura of self-importance radiating from him -- this was _his_ trace lab, and anyone who dared enter his realm had better be prepared to bow to his every whim. 

"How did it happen?" he found himself asking, and looked up at Catherine’s distant, "I…don’t really want to talk about it." The woman wore that slightly pinched look again, and Josh suspected he had just dredged up painful memories. Frowning, he looked around, and spotted the coffee machine. 

Pouring himself a cup, he took a long swallow and choked. "No offense," he gasped out, "but that’s crap." Even the sludge in Indianapolis hadn’t been _this_ bad. 

Catherine shot him a slightly sympathetic look at that, and remarked, "You just have to wait until Greg makes some of his special coffee, and steal some when he’s not in the break room. He uses this special expensive brand that’s addictive. Blue Hawaiian." 

"Anything would be better than this sludge," Josh muttered, setting the mug down with a sigh. He resisted the urge to look at the plaque again. After all, what more could a photograph tell him about David Hodges? He walked over to the vending machine, shoving a few quarters in and buying a Milky Way bar. "I need _something_ to keep me awake." Turning, he bit into the candy bar and informed Catherine, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice, "The dayshift tech still has some explaining to do, if you ask me. The backlog is _unbelievable_\--" 

There was a choked, strangled noise from the direction of the doorway, and Josh turned just in time to see a young man stare at him bleakly, something akin to utter desolation on his face, and then the young man fled from the break room. Josh blinked, and then stared in confusion at Catherine at her sighed, "Oh, _Greg_." Without even looking at Josh, the blonde raced from the room, and Josh uncertainly followed after her, all the way to the restroom (he blinked a little as Catherine walked into the men’s bathroom without ever faltering in her stride). He hesitated at the doorway, and instead listened to the voices filtering out. It was easy to do, for the most part, since one of the voices was raised. 

"I can’t -- there’s no way I can do this, Catherine. I just, seeing that guy in David’s lab? It just…it kills me. I can’t be here." Greg’s voice was thick with anguish, words cracking dangerously as though the man was on the verge of sobs -- and maybe he was, because the next few words were almost groaned. "_I can’t be here_." 

Catherine’s response was soft, and Josh had to strain to hear it. "I know, Greg, I know. You know Grissom said you can have as much time off as you need." She paused. "I can drive you home." 

"Home," was echoed bitterly. "To my empty apartment, you mean. I just…I can’t take it, Catherine. I can’t be anywhere anymore. There are little reminders of him everywhere, in the lab, at my apartment, and I just…where am I supposed to _go_?" 

Josh felt his breath catch at the mournful inquiry, even as silence answered it, as he finally understood what Catherine’s simple, "No," had been about. David Hodges had not, apparently, been a ladies’ man. 

And that broken, anguished voice resumed its plaintive lament. "It’s only…do you know what I’d _give_, to go back two weeks, to grab him and rush him to the hospital before he can have that aneurysm?" Greg laughed, and there was a hint of wild hysteria to the sound. "‘I’ve got a headache.’ Those were his last words to me. His _last words_, and I didn’t know--" He stopped abruptly, and after a pause, whispered, "I can’t be here. Not while this guy’s replacing David." 

Josh had backed up three steps before he even realized what he was doing. Nausea made his stomach roil even as he retreated to the trace lab, where days of backlog awaited him. He attempted to bury himself in the work, but the bleak look and broken lament of, "I can’t be here" repeated over and over in his head until his head swam and his hands shook violently. 

At the end of the shift, he swallowed and poked his head into Gilbert Grissom’s office. When the silver-haired man just looked at him, he swallowed again and silently placed a sheet of paper on the shift supervisor’s desk. 

Blue eyes picked it up and scanned it, and a single eyebrow rose. "Your letter of resignation?" 

"I…I don’t think I can fill the last trace technician’s shoes, sir, and I heard there was an opening in Albany. I’ve always wanted to live on the East Coast." He shrugged, retreating to the door. Hand on the doorknob, he paused. "I hope you find -- that you find a proper replacement." 

And then Josh fled. True, this was probably the coward’s way out, but Joshua Anderson was an ordinary man, and no ordinary man could stand seeing the bleakness in Greg’s eyes as he replaced David Hodges. 


End file.
